


The Girl with the Red Ram Tattoo

by Blanca_Angelic_Loveless



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 04:00:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9217922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blanca_Angelic_Loveless/pseuds/Blanca_Angelic_Loveless
Summary: Sherlock Holmes has made a new friend. Well, I say friend.She's really more of a willing participant in a new experiment he's conducting. I like her well enough anyway.----A short blog-post style story, from John POV. No real plot, I just like hearing Sherlock make deductions, so if you wanna read about 85% Sherlock making deductions, here's this.





	

**Author's Note:**

> _**don't forget to comment!!!!** _

Sherlock Holmes has made a new friend. Well, I say friend.

She's really more of a willing participant in a new experiment he's conducting. I like her well enough anyway. 

It all started the Saturday before last, while I was visiting Sherlock at Baker street. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, updating his website The Science Of Deduction and I was looking out the window (an old habit), when I noticed a young woman standing outside at a door. She was very well dressed, in a white blouse and pencil skirt with her red hair pulled into a bun. She had her arms crossed and was tapping her high-heeled clad foot quite nervously, while a brown and white service dog- a long haired, lop-eared spaniel-lurcher mix named Toby- sat patiently a her side.

It was obviously even a me she was meant to be a client, as she was doing as many often did- deciding if they really want to knowing the answer to whatever their problem was. I suggested an affair, as that's what it often was with the hesitant ones, but Sherlock told me not be an idiot. (I've only just asked as I'm typing this up, and he says the amount of time spent making up her mind far exceeded the norm for one worried about an affair. And the service dog, along with that, was a clear sign of severe social anxiety, meaning she wouldn't be comfortable enough with relationships in the first place to have to worry about an affair.) Anyway, she did eventually pluck up the courage to ring the doorbell, and Mrs. Hudson sent her up. She stood there in the living room for several quiet minutes, her arms crossed, well manicured fingers tapping nervously now while she looked at everything in a flat besides either me or Sherlock.

“I know you've written everything down already,” Sherlock said eventually, when I suspect he'd grown bored of waiting. “If you'll just hand it to John he’ll read it aloud for us.”

And of course, from her purse she quickly pulled out a purple spiral, and held it out to me.

On a inside cover was a name Geillis Marcaigh, and a phone number with a note asking anyone who found the journal “to text or call the number immediately.”

Then I began reading, and this is what it said:

I apologize for any inconvenience having to read this may cause. I have selective mutism, and speaking with strangers is understandably difficult. I'm sure however Mr. Holmes, that the peculiarity of my problem will more than make of for the inconvenience.

I have an eidetic memory you see, I can remember everything I've ever thought, seen, heard, read, done, or felt. I know with perfect clarity exactly how I left my flat this morning as if I was standing in it right now, and I can promise you Mr. Holmes, despite being the only one with a key to get in, and despite the security camera I’ve set up which never shows anyone on it but myself, when I return home tonight things will have been moved. And I know I didn't do it, and it's driving me mad.

Please, will you help me?

Sherlock was up out of his chair and examining every inch of her note book in a second.

“Where's the rest of it?” he asked finally, and she and I just blinked at him. He rolled his eyes. “This journals new, the pen used to write your name in the front is the same you use to write out the explanation of why you're here, and the ink is smudged on your hand as well, meaning you just wrote it. You just bought this journal especially for this meeting, yet it's incredibly thin, that combined with the little bits of paper still caught in the spiral, and the indents of writing- quite a lot of ink on you hand, so quite a lot of writing- pressed into the remaining pages tells me there's more. Now you've got an eidetic memory, HSAM actually, going by your explanation, yet this explanation is incredibly lacking in detail, suggesting you left out quite a bit in an effort not to waste my time, as I'm sure you're used to doing for others who can't bother themselves with reading everything you have to say, but I am interested, and by not handing over all the other details you've written down and ripped out you are, in fact, wasting my time.”

I was just about to tell him off for being so incredibly insensitive, when Geillis pulled the entire purse off her shoulder, dropped in on a floor, and briskly, with her back held straight, turned to walk down the steps, her dog following along, whine as he since his owners anxiety. 

“Well now you've done Sherlock,” I said. “Are you proud of yourself?”

“What? What have I done now?” He said to me, then looked towards the stairs, rolling his eyes. “She's shy, and already stressed. She left her journal and her purse with us, and the front door hasn't been opened either, she'll be back,” he said to me. 

“She's obviously more than a little shy, Sherlock. Just because you think it'll be fine doesn't mean you just say-”

“She'll. Be. Fine. That was hardly the worst she's ever been barked at, and she doesn't want to be coddled. She'll be back up in four minute.” He said to me, and picked up her purse to examine it's contents. “Go make her some tea if you want to be useful.” he said to me. The machine.

While I busied myself in the kitchen, Sherlock read over the small stack of papers the young woman had, in fact, filled top to bottom with details about her flat full of ever changing possession.

In short it explained that she had started noticing things changing when one morning her keys, which she had set in a bowl by the front door like she normally did every evening, where not in the same position the next morning as they'd been when she dropped them in. She explained that she'd dismissed it as them simply having shifted off balance and slid around in the bowl during the night, even though such a thing had never happened before. But then she explain similar thing that kept happening- little thing no one would notice if they weren't her, but which she did notice, and which could not be blamed on gravity.

The remote for the telly would be an inch to the right from where she'd set it on the coffee table. Four of a plastic grapes from the fruit bowl would be dangling artfully outside of the bowl, where there's only been three before. The milk carton would be facing the wrong way in the fridge from how she'd set it. Two books on herself, which looks similar enough, would be switched. The toilet paper would be placed the wrong way- her toothbrush would be facing the way. Toby’s bed would be moved from its corner spot in her room. Her book mark would be moved a few pages ahead. Her measuring cup would be in the completely wrong drawer.

Then, it went on a explain, thing started to go missing. An egg from the carton. A button from her coat. The light bulb from a lamp in the the living room. A bag of dog treats. Her pink barrett. A single flower from every flower pot in the flat. A ring from the shower curtain. 

She could find no pattern or meaning behind any of it other then that they happened when she was either sleep or not home, and that it was never anything big. Nothing a normal person would notice at first glance.

She wrote next about how even though Toby never woke her up or showed signs anyone was in the flat, she'd had a friend set up a video camera in the living room, which managed to cover the hallway and the kitchen as well, and that when she reviews the tapes she never caught anyone sneaking in or out, and that she could never see anything moving or disappearing on a recordings, either because of the angle hiding the object behind something else or because the video simply wasn't clear enough. She told about how she's placed new locks on a doors that couldn't be tampered with from the outside, and little bits of tape on the insides of every door or window in the flat and told no one, but that no tape line was every broken when she returned home or woke up, and yet things would still be subtlety off or altogether missing.

It was amazing to me, both the details and the effort she'd gone to to solve her mystery for herself.

Right on the four minute mark, just like Sherlock predicted Geillis came back up the stairs, eyes red and face puffy, but altogether okay. I offered her a seat and she sat on the couch, drink the tea while Sherlock finished reading her notes.

Once he'd finished, he tossed the journal back to her along with a pen, and had her write down everyone of consequences she's ever irritated, anger, or inconvenience in a last two years, and what she did to irritate, anger, or inconvenience them in order of most to least recent.

She wrote for nearly an hour and filled up six pages with names and a description of what she'd done that was anywhere from a sentence to a full paragraph. The first of which read “Today- I wasted Sherlock Holmes time.” And that was incredibly telling, even to me. Most of the rest turned out to be a bit like that. “I bumped into to so-and-so on the stairs the morning of…” and other simple thing that no one would normally consider consequentially irritating, angering, or inconveniencing, but which seemed in her mind to all be utterly terrible grievances. And that's when I decided I do not envy anyone with better memory than mine. Sure, it must be nice never to forget an appointment, or when you need a go to the shop, or when you've got a date night, but I'd hate to have to remember every little thing I ever did even the slightest bit wrong, or every rude word spoken to me as well.

Of course there were a few that Sherlock found relevant, such as the the woman who Geillis beat for a promotion over a year ago because she'd been able to ace the required memory test, and her neighbor whom she'd gotten arrested for drug dealing three months ago because when the cops had come asking about a missing girl she'd been able to assure them she'd seen the girl going into her neighbor's flat once, late at night. Or her previous landlord, who she'd over heard having an affair, and known it wasn't with his wife because she'd over heard them once before, and knew the two women did not sound alike.

He asked after her friend who'd installed the camera’s as he took a disk from the purse and popped it into his laptop and watched. I watched as well, and I can confirm that nothing ever looks to have changed in the hours worth of video which we speed through quickly.

When she handed him the journal entry about her friend, he quickly ripped out a blank page and instructed her to make a map of her apartment and to mark every spot in which something was either moves or taken, from before the cameras were installed in red, and from after in blue. He told her I mark all doors, windows, and vents.

At this point I could tell the case was solved. Clearly, I'd though, some how it was the friend with the camera. I was only half right.

As it turned out, the friend had only been Geillis’ friend for a few months, when she'd moved into flat next door to Giellis, just before the objects in her flat began to change, so not hardly a friend at all (and there was loads of information on this friend, but that's about the only thing that seems to have matter- she wasn't really Geillis’ friend). Sherlock took one look at the blueprints of the flat and solved the mystery.

“It's several of the people who've been- in their opinions- wronged by your memory.” He told her. “I'm sure it's several people on this list, and maybe a few other from farther back, the ex-landlord for sure. They're sneaking in through the vent that connects your flat to your friend’s- it's obvious from the layout that your flat is in a building designed with the sort of vents big enough for one person crawl through- and moving things and removing things out of view of the camera, which they know very well what it does and doesn't show- half of the kitchen, a large enough portion of a living room at night that is totally black, the hallway leading the way to bathroom, the two bedrooms, and the vent in the hallway. The dog obviously isn't reacting to any of this because he knows your friend, she was crawling through the vents with others. They're using you're perfect memory against you, of course, to make you think you can't actually trust your memory, to trick you into thinking your “perfect brain” isn't so perfect. I'd actually have to visit your flat to figure out everyone involved, but as there's not enough evidence to convict anyone, and I suppose you'll be moving soon anyway, I see little point in it.”

Geillis thanked Sherlock and I, with a beautiful written ‘thank you’ in bright markers on a bit of note books paper, and left soon after. I thought that alone would have been interesting enough for a blog post here, except about half a second after Geillis had closed the front door downstairs, Sherlock was bolting after her exclaiming what an idiot he was (don't worry Sherlock, practically everyone is).

Geillis was just just starting her car when Sherlock and I made it outside. When she rolled down the window and gave a very obvious look of confusion, Sherlock invited her to be his new flatmate.

“You need a new flat, I've an available room up stairs- John's old room, very well taken care of I assure you. You need a place that will allow animals, and Mrs. Hudson will be fine with it. Between the two of us, I who leave piles of things everywhere I happen to put them that day until they topple over, and Mrs. Hudson, who despite insisting is not my housekeeping, is constantly housekeeping, you will be easily able to dismiss moved objects as one of the two of us and not some nefarious plot to drive you mad. As for your job, you hate it, it's the perfect opportunity to quit.-”

“How do you kn-” I started to say, but he kept going, obviously already intent on explaining it to Geillis.

“-It's a large company, very professional going by your state of dress, and must pay very well judging by the designer brands of everything you're wearing and your purse, and your car- but you hate it obviously because it bording, and because there's people there all day constantly talking at and around you when you really just want to work and be done, and go, which would be fine of course, if they'd just get it though their head to stop expecting you to talk back. You answer phones all day- I know you can speak to people over the phone, your note in your journal said to text or call- because you've got several piercing currently in your left ear, and only two in the top of your right meaning you had the phone putting pressure there all day, but you couldn't take the top two out for any relief because they're new and they need to heal. Now, they're new, and I can see the holes in your eyebrows and lip from where you've taken older piercing out for the day, and the edges of and very large tattoo on your back poking out of you collar. A woman like you at and an office job? You must hate it. Am I right?”

She nodded at him slowly, her face that usual mask of stricken amazement everyone gets when he does that.

“So. You move in with me and I offer you the job of my… we’ll call it a Personal Assistant. Live in PA, that's what they used to call John. No dress code, make your own hours, almost never leave the flat, a relative guarantee if you do have to go out, I'll be drawing all of the attention. And all you have to do is exactly what you just did. Listen to me talk- for now anyway, we can work out the details later. Despite what those complete imbeciles rearranging your apartment think, your memory is an incredible gift, but it's going to absolute waste right now! I've got too much information in my mind taking up so much space, if I could tell it to you, I could delete it from my mind without having to worry about losing it permanently! It's perfect! If I ever needed the information back, you could just write it down, of call me from the other room, I'm sure we can work something out. I'll go talk to Mrs. Hudson.”

Geillis was right behind Sherlock, only pausing long enough to hold the door open as Toby jumped out behind her, before she was following Sherlock down the hall into 221A in search of the landlady. Later when Geillis, who apparently more than loved the idea of moving into with Sherlock, had gone home to arrange everything from her lease for her flat to her job, I asked how he'd known she'd accept his offer in the first place.

He told me it was obvious from the the new tattoos and piercings, that despite the mutism and social anxiety, she wasn't afraid to go out and live as much as she could- she just did so better if she was on her own and not with people. He said he could tell from the dog’s new uniform he was a new acquirement, and that she'd spent several minute trying to talk to them before giving the notebook over, showing she was trying to overcome her selective mutism.

“She wants more than her boring, quiet life. And if the records are anything to go by, no one says no when when I offer excitement.”

“What records?” I asked.

“You, Molly, Anderson three weeks ago when you would answer your phone, Wiggins, the list does go on.”

“Wait, you took Anderson on a case?”

“That's not the point! The point is, ordinary people with they're boring ordinary problems always seem very excited when I say ‘Look! A dead body, want to know it's life story!?’ and then you all seem either cured of you problems, or happy with your life's mundanity. The type that say ‘yes’ are either like you, an adrenaline junkie, or someone so utterly bored they don't know what they want, and I know she knows what she wants.”

“What so, you think your going to cure her with adrenaline?”

“Don't be ridiculous John, it's not exactly the same as you and your psychosomatic limp, but she is actually trying to overcome her problems. She's going to do it herself, I'm just going to help. Just imagine what the world would be like John, if she could think like me, and speak. There'd be far less Stupid in the world, that's for cert- why would she need the journals back.” he finished suddenly, changing the topic completely.

“Sorry what?” I asked him.

“Her journals.” Sherlock said again, eyes flickering the way they do whenever he's searching his mind for the answer to something. “I saw the receipt when she handed over the purse. She bought it, I was right, little over half an hour before she came to us, and the first thing she did was put her contact information in it, but why? Obviously it's was habit with this journal, but why's she in the habit at all? She has an eidetic memory, it's not as if she's keeping notes or lists that she might need back. So it's not for her then.-” at this point I could tell he wasn't talking to me any more, but to himself. “-So for who? She only writes down her half of any conversation, probably has a few pre-written answer on the first few pages. It's nothing important. Nothing important would stay in the journals anyway. If she wrote something down for work, she'd be smart enough tear it out and run it through a shredder.

“So then she need the journals back for someone who wants to read about her half-conversations?” Sherlock asked himself, then his face feel. “Oh. Therapist then, like yours with the blog (Sherlock says hi Ella). Bording. No- something else. There was something else!”

He started pacing then, back and forth across the living room. Right now I'd like to thank you Geillis for being the most interesting distraction Sherlock’s had in months. Really he was having a field day!

“A date!” he exclaimed, jumping, literally, with joy. “On the first of the pages she ripped out was today's date, but it wasn't on the pages she left in the journal. So she did it the first time- again on habit- but decided against it by the time she ripped those out and started over. Which means the dates aren't for her, they're for whoever's going to see the journals, but she's decidedly not showing them the journals of our meeting here today. So not a therapist then.”

“Not the therapist?” I asked while he'd gone momentarily quiet. “Why not?”

“Because you didn't keep me from your therapist even though the first time we met I took you to a crime scene, ran you around the city, and then you moved in with me. Anderson probably only talks about me with his-”

“to be fair, you are the primary reason he needs one-”

“No I'm not, his guilt was his own fault. Anyway, took him on a case, and look, he's off suspension and back in the field. First day I met Geillis I solve a crime for her a now she's moving in with the intent of running around solving crimes with me. It's all about the same.

“So she will actually tell her therapist about this, ‘look I've made a friend!’ something like that. But who would she want to keep it and secret from? So someone who needs to see all her conversations, but wouldn't want to see a conversation with me- so someone she's told about the problems of her apartment over and over again, but who doesn't think anything of it, and doesn't want her doing anything about it. Someone with whom there would be consequences if they found out, so not a friend. No- she's moving in with me. The consequences of moving in with me would far exceeded whatever they would be for simply consulting with me.”

He was quiet for another moment, thinking. I was quite, completely lost.

“Someone who she needs to show she's speaking with people, socializing, in order to gain something, something which she will still gain by moving in with me- ahhhh,” he said slowly. Smirking triumphantly. “What a brilliant girl. She will be fun.”

I waited a moment.

“Care to share with the class Sherlock?” I asked.

“Money. Expensive clothes, exexpensive purse, expensive car, expensive dog, flat, camera equipment, giant tattoo. She's rich. And yes, she’s got a nice job, but it's can't possibly pay that well, not when she's twenty-six and mostly answering phones all day, so where’s the money coming from? Inheritance. Mummy and Daddy give her money as long as she goes to her nice respectable office job, and her nice expensive therapist and can subsequently, with the journals that are dated to show when she was doing so, proves she's trying to live a proper and socialize life on a regular basis.

“But I thought she wanted to do all that on her own? Why would her parents need to see proof?”

“Because she wants adventure, excitement. They just want her to be proper. Again, that’s why she couldn't come to me. ‘A locked room mystery?’” Here his voice went up as he did an unflattering imitation of Geillis parents “‘Geilly Dear, don't be silly. Such things don't happen. Geilly Dear, you don't need to go see that insane detective, you're much better than that, I'm sure you're just not paying attention. Geilly Dear don't waste our money on more camera’s in your flat, we spend enough money to put you in such a nice place. Geilly Dearest if you don't stop being silly, and talk with your thearapist about this Mummy and Daddy will cut you off.”

“But wouldn't they know she wasn't mistaken? Wouldn't they know she remembers everything?”

“Parents like that? No. They are not among the selective to which she speaks. They have no idea all the ugly things that ever come out of they're pretentious mouths are still perfectly filed away in their daughter's head. They've no idea they're the key reason why she judges herself so harshly when she even so much as wins because it means somebody else lost, or when she takes the last of something at the store and the lady behind her in line mentions she was looking for it also.

“Anyway. The money. They were paying her a great deal of money, and obviously she could have said no, she's not codependent, or scared to be on her own- she didn't have to think twice when I offered her something better- so she was simply smart enough to use them. ‘Haha, I'm not as perfect a you think I am, I'm manipulating you and using your money for things you disapprove of behind your back and you don't even know it. That’s what you get for all the nasty things you ever said to me!’ But now I've just offered her one) a place of her own, not being rented out by, and therefore owned by, her parent. A place she had a say in choosing. Two) a spectacularly, amazingly well-paying job that far exceeds her previous allowance and paycheck combined. As well as the benefits of no set schedule, dress, or place. Three) adventure, and freedom to be as un-proper as she wishes. And four) the opportunity to tell her parents off without consequences.”

“But if she's so judgemental of herself, how's she been justifying manipulating her parents?” I asked because it seemed highly contradictory, and I thought maybe I'd caught something, but of course Sherlock would know, and prove me wrong.

“Because she's not actually inconveniencing them, they put her in that situation. They're no concequiences if they don't know, therefore they haven't shown upsetness. That's what she reacts to. The behavior of some one. ‘I wasted Sherlock Holmes time. Therefore he was annoyed and snapped at me. I'm such a nuances I can't do anything right’ ‘I bumped into the lady on the stairs, she tripped and almost dropped the her groceries, and she glarred at me therefore she must hate me. I’m awful.’ ‘I took a last of something anything more store, and now the lady behind me can't have it. She sounded so upset when she noticed, why am I getting in the way all the time, it's just terrible!’ A more important question, John, is how is she's going to break the news of her running of to be adventurous to her parents. That's going upset them. That's going to leave her feeling guilty for a life time.”

Sherlock spend the rest of my visit laying of the sofa, in his mind palace, building a room for Geilly.

And again, this is where I thought I had enough for a blog post, but then last week I went for another visit, and was suprised to find Geilly had already moved in. When I came into the living room that day, it was to an interesting sight- this is where we get to the “willing participant in a new experiment” thing. Geilly was sitting in on the couch, reading though an old leather bound journal. It was one Sherlock kept when he was younger, when he was still mastering his mind palace technique. Apparently that's all she'd been doing since she moved in three days prior. Reading year's worth of childhood memories, experiments, and theories so Sherlock could delete them for his own mind. 

Sherlock himself was nowhere to be found. Geilly told me he hadn't slept since she moved in- too busy telling her all sorts of things when she wasn't reading, and basically choosing which order was best for her to read his journals in- that he'd only just crashed about an hour ago. She told me this via BSL, and explained she hadn't used it before because she'd had no idea we'd known it, so I'm telling everyone now, if you haven't come to us with a case because of that, it's absolutely no problem, we all know sign language.

Anyway, she decided that my arrival was a perfect excuse for a break and rose to make tea. And of course as she passed me, since she was wearing shirt that exposed her upper back and because her bright red hair was pulled up in a messy bun, I was able the tattoo which Sherlock had been talking about the week before. Its was a huge ram’s head, it's round horns circling her shoulder blades, just barely avoiding escaping the canvas of her back.

“I just wanted something big, and bold that would make people look twice.” she signed when I asked about it. “I didn't want something small, it would have been to boring. It's still not done. It needs to be colored, but I'm going to wait to see what Sherlock’s paying me first.”

Over tea she showed me the sign for her own name- -. And then showed me the one she was thinking of using for Sherlock (she'd spelled it out the moment before). She hooked her two pinky fingers together in the finger sign for S and then, fisting her right hand while her finger where still hooked, twisted it in the sign for Lock. S-Lock. I told her I liked that, and then suggested Hat-Man as a joke, but when she said that meant she'd be calling me Robin, I decided against. I asked about myself she said she was still thinking on it.

Then she told me about all the other stuff Sherlock was planning on making her memories on the near future; entire medical texts, several maps of London, both new and severely outdated, a few dead languages, and several living ones (all of which she was meant to practice out loud whenever she was able), the modern political history of Britain and several other countries, the various smells and textures of perfume and fabrics, and just about any odd facts she happened to pick up (she said he was heavily encouraging her to spend time doing nothing but gathering every random bit of information she could. “He still doesn't know the solar system. I would have thought you putting it up on the blog would be enough to bother remembering it.” she said).

And that was only the home schooling. Apparently he had a field trip planned to St. Bart’s mortuary the coming Thursday for a more hands on learning. And she mentioned something about Sherlock taking her about the city and getting her lost with a expectation of her returning to the flat within a certain amount of time only by walking. Really if she didn't seem so enthusiastic I'd be worried. On second thought, her enthusiasm does worry me.

She asked after Mary and the baby, and I said they were both doing well. She told me her own parents were indescribably furious at her, and she was worried they wouldn't calm down at some point, and that she'd never be able to speak with them again- or more accurately her younger siblings, who were both still living under their parents authority. I was just in the mists of reassuring her that either her parents would see reason, and get over themselves, or they wouldn't, and that would prove them rather unworthy of speaking with in my opinion, when we heard Sherlock moving about in his room. When he emerged, he was fully dressed, and pulling his coat on.

“Ah, good you're here John, Lestrade’s just called. Geilly, go get dressed, you're coming along.”

I'd notices while I'd been sitting with here, that Geilly tended not to make eye contact, preferring to either look at my chin or my chest while we talked, but it was plain to see she wasn't even looking in Sherlock’s direction, and she determinedly signed “where?” at my chest, even though Sherlock was well to her right.

But when Sherlock walked past me and replied, “crime scene in north London, shall we take your car or a cab?” without missing a beat, then she replied by signing “cab” at me, and he said “good choice ” I supposed Sherlock’s brashness was simply a bit much for her, but that they were working something out well enough.

Geilly went upstairs to her room- it was weird think of someone else occupying that room after all this time. I didn't feel like I'd been replaced or anything, that would be ridiculous, it more felt briefly liked I'd stepped into an alternate reality. Either way, when she returned her hair was pulled into a much neater bun, there were neon piercings of all colors in her ears, eyebrows, and lips. She was wearing a pair of old hot pink convers, very short, faided shorts, and a blank shirts halter top that showed off her back. The only make up she'd applied was bright pink lipstick, and honesty I'll admit the dramatic change in her appearance for her professionalism last week, nearly gave me a heart attack.

As she was helping Toby into his harness I couldn't help looking between the three of us and thinking what an odd sight we would make when we arrived at the crime scene. She who several years younger than me and sherlock, looking like a rebellious… rebel, Sherlock in his name-brand tailored-to-perfection suit, and my in jeans and a slightly over sized sweater. She stood and Toby feel into step next to her as we followed Sherlock down the stairs and out the door.

Yup. Very odd.

Any way. I'll make another post about the case once everything's settled, I just thought it would be a good idea to give her a proper introduction, instead of jumping straight in a the case.

**Author's Note:**

> _**don't forget to comment!!!!** _


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